Blood of a Violet
by Wings of the Snitch
Summary: Both Violet Anderson and Lysander James have powers that appear out of no where. They have no idea how or why this happened to them, but as they seek to obtain answers, they'll learn more about themselves then they ever thought was possible.
1. Prologue

Blood of a Violet

Prologue.

Darkness surrounds me. The Christmas lights wrapped around my bedpost seem to blur in my peripheral vision. I stare at the infantile pills that lay in the palm of my hand. My heartbeat slows as I move them ever the more closer to my mouth that's waiting in anticipation. I hear Lysander let out an exasperated sigh of boredom as he casually flips through one of my magazines over by the windowsill.

With one quick movement, I fling the twenty some-odd pills towards the back of my throat and swallow them down in one gulp. Lysander just rolls his eyes, but when I begin to sway back and forth a look of concern emerges on his face.

The shapes and outlines within my room begin to twirl and shift before me. My body slams against the mattress on my bed and I start to seize violently, causing Lysander to leap in the air, across the room, and appear by my side.

"Violet!" he screams. He takes the upper half of my body in his arms and attempts to control my shaking.

But honestly, it's no use. I'm aware of his strong arms and pleas of help for only a few more seconds until I black out completely.

When I wake up I'm staring into two bright emerald eyes swallowed by a shaggy head of midnight black.

"It was a lot worse this time Vi, you really had me freaked out," Lysander says softly.

"I didn't think it was going to be that bad," I reply. Without another thought, I jump off my bed and make my way to the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, I see the same face as always- the same reddish pixie hair-do, the same jumble of freckles, and the same long eyelashes blinking away ages of tiredness. Nothing's changed, and in response I sigh with frustration.

"How the hell am I still alive?" I ask Lysander as I turn off the switch angrily and walk back into the room.

"Shit if I know," he retorts. "You're invincible…or something.

"That was, what? The tenth time I've tried to kill myself in the past week, right? What the hell's wrong with me? Wasn't I already enough of a freak?"

"Quit your complaining, would you? It's annoying, especially when we have no way of actually obtaining any answers," Lysander says. I can tell that he's angry with me because of the fact that I got closer to death this time round, and so I sit down next to him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper sincerely. I reach over to wrap my arms around his shoulders, but he slaps me in the face instead.

"What on earth was that?" I yell.

"That was for scaring me half to death," he replies solemnly, and then hugs me tightly in his arms.

"You've seriously got to be bipolar or something," I tell him, but he just holds on stronger and I don't object.


	2. Chapter 1 Monster

Chapter One- Monster.

Deep yelling and noises from the other room send me bolt upright in the middle of the night. I'd been sleeping over Lysander's place like I'd done countless times before; however, at this moment he was missing from the spot beside me.

"Sander?" I call out softly, wiping away the weariness in my eyes. All of a sudden I hear a great crash and a yelp. "Sander?" I say worriedly.

I rush out the room and through the swinging door into the kitchen. On the floor, Lysander lay crumpled, blood spewing from both his nose and several cuts on his arms. "What-what's going on? I question, my voice growing hoarse.

I turn my head slightly to find his father sweating profusely with a look of pure anger sprawled on his face. Before I can utter another word his dad whips a sharp blade across my cheek and then stabs me in the stomach. I scream out in pain and fall to my knees.

"You're pathetic," Mr. James spits at his son. "And you can take this bitch with you when you leave. I'm tired of seeing both of your faces around here," he says and then trudges out the front door.

Right after Mr. James has left, Lysander crawls over to me. "V-v-violet, I-I'm so sorry. I'm g-going to have to pull the knife out of your stomach in order for you to be able to heal, o-okay?" he stammers.

I nod my head, not able to speak for I was gasping for oxygen in heaps of breaths.

Hands shaking, he wraps his fingers around the hilt of the knife and gives a quick tug. Almost immediately I feel a sense of relief course through me.

I lift up my scraggly old t-shirt to discover the skin around my wound shifting and healing. Within seconds, the wound is completely gone. I reach up and touch the cut on my face, only now there's only a trace of blood left and nothing else. I smile and look to Lysander, "I'm alright."

He sighs with relief and begins to relax a bit more. "He's never…well…I mean…he's only ever gone after me before. I was always the problem, always the one he…hit. If I ever thought that he would hurt you-" Lysander slams his fist on the floor with anger.

"Sander, I'm fine. It's you that I'm worried about." There are dozens of cuts along his arms, but his nose had finally ceased bleeding.

"Don't worry about me, I'm used to it," he replies, as though it's nothing at all. And in fact, this was true. His father had been abusing Lysander ever since I'd met him. I'd always tried to convince him that he needed to tell someone about it so his dad would be stopped, but he never listened to me.

Now that something like this had happened though, we both new we had to get out of there. Where would we go? Good question. But that didn't really matter at the moment.

Together we head back to Lysander's room and while he rushes to the bathroom to clean himself up, I put on a pair of black skinny jeans, purple vans and a tight fitting, but comfortable grey sweatshirt. I then squirt hair product into my hands and massage it throughout my short locks of red.

Moments later, Lysander's finished as well and is sporting tattered jeans, converse and a hoodie under a leather jacket, all of which completely cover up the scars on his arms.

We both grab our backpacks and make our way out of the house. We're headed to the only place we know, the only place that can take us pretty much anywhere, the train station. The only problem being that we had no clue what our next destination was.


End file.
